


Set A Screen

by ghostofgatsby



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Basketball, Bisexual Male Character, Denial of Feelings, Insecurity, Internal Conflict, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: Trott has a routine. And he doesn't think about Ross.(a sequel pining and basketball fic to Running Lines)





	Set A Screen

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled into writing a sequel to Running Lines, because apparently Trott pines for Ross right back.
> 
> title comes from a maneuver in which defenders set up a block with your body, in order to keep the person with the ball from being defended- allowing easier access to score, and preventing the other team from adequately defending the person with a ball.  
> I haaaated doing this and got yelled at for failing to do it adequately. basically if you’re small it means REALLY BIG PLAYERS RUN INTO YOU AT FULL SPEED. AAAAH.
> 
> cw: pining/lusting? if I need to tag anything else, let me know.
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2018/04/20/set-a-screen-ghostofgatsby

Trott has a routine. And he doesn't think about Ross. He gets up and plays basketball every day, and he doesn’t think about Ross when he plays.

Trott leaves his personal life out of the game. That all comes afterward, though it was always closely intertwined. He’d had his first kiss with his girlfriend under the gymnasium bleachers, after a sectional win of his high school career. Throughout college, games were interspersed with parties, and he also had his fair share of celebratory hookups- with men and women both. Past partners were sports lovers, athletes, and sometimes rivals.

Trott chased after basketball all his life. He dribbled since he could walk- the joke of it was that he never closed his mouth. He couldn’t help but grin when things went well, he loved the sport that much. It was a thrill for him, to chase his dream of playing sports for a living like he chased after the ball on the court.

After every round of layups, or between sessions at the gym, or when he’s sitting on the bench waiting for the game to start, Trott doesn’t think about Ross, who often sits beside him. He doesn’t think about Ross’ voice in his ear talking the plays or muttering praise about their success. He doesn’t make up a script in his head about what Ross would say to him in bed, breathless and sweaty. Words don't sound like exaltation during time outs of tough matches. They shouldn’t- the scores are more important. He’s afraid of the scale tipping the other way, because he doesn’t want to put his trust in someone who can break it. Too many bad experiences mean he keeps his heart close to his chest.

Trott doesn't think about the scent of Ross cologne, and the sight of him stepping out of the showers. What he would do to taste the sweat off his skin, to slip the mesh jersey off of him and hold him close, to brush his fingers through Ross’ hair and pull him in.

Anything between them would be a distraction from the game, from the best they could be. Trott pushes it all down, pushes it down for every meet, every practice, every team outing. He flags his conversations, keeps his teasing and casual flirting to a minimum level, and tries above everything to remain friendly but reserved. It’s a fierce kind of denial.

At night, thoughts bubble up like carbonated water. One after the other. A steady stream of what-ifs and desires. There's a tight warmth in his chest when he thinks about Ross laughing at his jokes, and smiling back at him. Trott's happy when he can make others happy, and he wants to make Ross happy.

The hard thing is, is that he doesn’t know how.

He wants to lie next to Ross in bed, and breathe in deep. He wants to mess up his perfectly gelled hair. To kiss his lips until they bruise, leave secret marks behind on his pale skin, knocking their knees together to try and get closer. They practice guarding and sometimes Trott thinks about pressing Ross up against a wall and just kissing him until they get pulled apart by some gravity-defying outside force. As if some wild act of PDA would drive the two of them together. Swaying them towards giving a relationship a shot.

For Trott, the Ross in-game has to be separate from the Ross out-of-game. He has to have that divide. They’re friendly, they’re good teammates, and Trott genuinely enjoys Ross’ humor and company. But they’re not close. Not close enough for Trott to invest himself.

All companionship ends when they walk off the court, when they take off the jersey, when they aren’t required to be in the same space. The team all has each others’ numbers, but Trott can never make himself text and ask Ross out. Or if Ross wants to hang out sometime, or if he’s into any video games Trott plays, or anything. Anything. He’d get to know him better if he thought it would be easy. And it’s stupid, that he’s not willing to try and fail. It’s stupid that he isn’t willing to take a chance. Hit or miss, the questioning keeps him up at night.

After the games, they part their separate ways, to separate lives, and separate beds. The scoreboards reset, a clean slate. Ghostly scuff marks are the last thing left on the court, and Trott is always left wanting something more.


End file.
